


Love Language

by TinyThoughts



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, I love them so much, Idiots in Love, Love Language, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, also this is for you my dear, but it's so fluffy, i am not good at shorts, please enjoy, this was supposed to be a short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyThoughts/pseuds/TinyThoughts
Summary: Jaskier is baffled. Flabbergasted. In a state of constant awe.He has known Geralt for great many years. Pined after him for most of them, and therefore thought he knew Geralt and his ways. He has seen him at his best and his worst, from afar and up close.But something changed.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 163





	Love Language

**Author's Note:**

> SO this is for @Astral-Almighty, because you leave the most sweetest and wonderful comments all the time and I want to give something back. And Im doing a sneaky and claiming this to be 2/4 400 follower stories, because I want it to be soft things.  
> THANK YOU for reading, thank you for commenting, thank you for being you.  
> This applies to the lot of you, it's amazing what your support can do.
> 
> Please have a wonderful day, and enjoy <3

Jaskier is baffled. Flabbergasted. In a state of constant awe.

He has known Geralt for great many years. Pined after him for most of them, and therefore thought he knew Geralt and his ways. He has seen him at his best and his worst, from afar and up close.  
He witnessed Triss falling for him, and Geralt not returning her feelings.   
He was on the first row when Geralt fell head over heels for Yennefer, and how they fell apart over and over again.   
And when Geralt broke _his_ heart, on accident and on purpose, Jaskier saw, felt, witnessed, learned who Geralt is, and how he acts.   
When Ciri finally was pushed into their lap by fate's cruel hand, he thought he had seen it all.

He was content with being Geralt's friend, he was fine with sitting on the sidelines, if only he got to be there. They had their fights, their falling outs, their own kind of breaking up for months.   
But they always found each other, and Jaskier thought he knew how Geralt expressed himself and his own place in their lives.

But something changed.

Jaskier can’t put his finger on what or when, but Geralt started mending his socks when he did his own. When he complained about his lute case being in poor shape, bought him a new one.

And Jaskier has been to Kaer Morhen a few times. It has passed its glory days, it is true, but the beauty of history in a hidden corner of the world, a place to rest and heal and grow. To breathe the stillness of a winters day high above the ground, to be a part of the sky, to feel the cold bite his cheeks.   
On a balcony far above everything, Geralt had kissed him.

He remembers the sky being a pale blue, almost white over the horizon, the sun high above them. They were talking about something as mundane as brushes for Roach and Pegasus.

Jaskier insisted they should have the brushes with a little longer bristles, because they were clearly superior to the soft, useless ones Geralt preferred. The longer would work better with the thick winter fur and the mud, obviously. Soft brushes are great for added shine, but they didn’t do much good before they were clean, would they?

And Geralt had smiled at him, a soft smile Jaskier had only seen at a distance before, and then Geralt had stepped right into his space.

Noses almost touching, Geralt's wonderful amber eyes almost hidden behind his lashes when he looked down and then leaned in. Dry, chapped lips against his, beard tickling him and his heart almost exploding with emotion. It took Jaskier completely by surprise, and Geralt had pulled back, smiled again and apologized.   
And one does not kiss Jaskier like that and apologize for it. Especially not when you have been half in love with the idiot for a decade, possibly two.

Jaskier did the only right thing and kissed the daylight out of him, right there on the balcony.

So yes, things have changed, and entirely for the better.   
But Jaskier, who spent most of his life watching Geralt, is finding out new things. It’s like someone lifted a curtain, opened a door, whatever cliché you would want to use. Geralt is letting him in, letting him see another side of himself. They have been through a lot, they both have changed and grown a lot. But there are more smiles, and they are brighter, softer, richer. The jokes are less cutting, and there are actual compliments.   
Touches. Words, even.

A late night in the corner of a tavern, perhaps a little bit deeper into their drinks than intended, Geralt leans forward and takes hold of his chin. By now Jaskier expects a kiss, but Geralt just stares at him.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” He murmurs, and Jaskier is moments away from death. Heart, lungs, you name it, they all take a break to restart and think out new ways to function. Because never, ever, had he expected that. There is no way he could compete with Yennefer, and he say as much.

“It’s not a competition.” Geralt had frowns at him, still a little too focused on his eyes. “Each of you has something that is only you. I could never compare. Your eyes are like a piece of the sky, a droplet of water, cornflower blue. It’s hard to look at you sometimes, because it’s so hard to look away.”

Needless to say, Jaskier drags Geralt up to their room and they weren’t seen for the rest of the night.

While on the path and on one horse each it wasn’t easy to find ways to casually touch.

But Geralt lets Roach get close to Pegasus, their feet and calves touching. Jaskier smiles at him and pushes at Geralt's shoulder, and Geralt catches his hand and kisses his knuckles. And then Geralt comments on the blush Jaskier suddenly is wearing.

Sometimes when they sit next to each other, Geralt will drop a hand on Jaskiers thigh. Grabbing his hand, letting his thumb slowly caress it. Twining their fingers together, touching their feet together under the table. Gentle touches for no other reason than to be a bit closer.

More than once while sitting in front of the fire at night, scribbling on lyrics and poems, Geralt would sit close if not next to him. Sometimes he would sit behind Jaskier, trace patterns on his back as he worked. Sometimes he would fiddle with his hair, kiss his shoulder or neck.   
And when he peeks around at Jaskier, to see if he was getting any attention, he would pull a stray strand of hair behind his ear. His fingers are always hot, always careful.

Jaskier never saw this side of Geralt, no.   
But it would turn out Geralt never saw this side of Jaskier either.

Might be that Jaskier recites many poems, and writes them even more. But before this, before the balcony, Jaskier would never dare write and read one directly about and to Geralt. When Jaskier reads them, every time without fail Geralt's mouth falls open, blush stains his cheeks and Jaskier has to fight not to lean in and kiss him.   
It’s wonderful, he can never get enough.

Geralt is used to seeing Jaskiers easy platonic affection, but nothing could have prepared him for all the love and affection Jaskier harbors inside of himself, that suddenly is let free. How he for long, long moments can let his fingers run across Geralt’s face.

His nose, cheekbones, lips, chin, temples, over the shell of his ear. Exploring, caressing, touching. He is allowed now, after all. Sometimes he braids Geralt's hair. He sucks at braiding, they are crooked and uneven, but Geralt refuse to take them out for a day or two.

And when he finally does, his pale white hair is full of curls and waves, and there is nothing on this earth that can make Jaskier stop playing with it.

Of course there is a certain amount of flirting a bard is expected to do during his performance, but he somehow always makes sure he ends up sprawled across Geralt's lap, even with a perfectly good chair right next to them.

And it’s been but two nights they haven’t slept next to each other, or on top of each other, while together on the path. They have no reason to pretend anymore, after all.

Then of course there are the less obvious things, the things they have done for each other for years but suddenly are seen as what they should have been all along.

It seems like no one is surprised by this new development. No one but the two of them. It will take years for him, a decade, possibly more, to come to terms with this. But they have time. They practice every day. It’s not perfect.

They are still not good at talking, they fight and misunderstand and they yell and they forgive.

But it’s like they always have been. Always will be.

And they work for it, for their time and affection for each other, a little more every day.

The first _I love you_ reverberate through his bones, etches itself on his heart. Making room for all the _I love you_ s to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on Tumblr!  
> Im Dapandapod!


End file.
